


Simple Pleasures

by dillonmania



Category: DCU (Comics), The Flash (Comics)
Genre: Ableism, Ableist Language, Autism, Autism Spectrum, Bullying, Childhood, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-22 14:41:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14310918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dillonmania/pseuds/dillonmania
Summary: Roscoe finds comfort in a particular activity, but others don't see his interest the same way.





	Simple Pleasures

**Author's Note:**

> Be warned of a slur included in this fic. Bullying is awful, and I didn't want to bowdlerize that.

The world was loud and stressful, seemingly populated only by parents who yelled and children who shrieked piercingly during play. Occasionally the children asked him to join their games, but the noise was generally too intense for him and more often than not they ignored his solitary activities anyway.

Spinning brought him comfort from this, whether it was moving his own body or watching the steady rotation of colourful tops. It soothed his frazzled senses, allowing him to forget about the cacophony of stimuli and the stress from school and his home life. He spent hours playing with his tops or letting himself spin, and this whirling dance was one of the few things in life which brought him true joy.

One late afternoon found him quietly spinning a top by himself when he was approached by one of his schoolmates, a boy he didn’t particularly like. Roscoe ignored him, intent on the motion of the top, but the boy kicked it over in mid-spin and it struck his chest.

“Hey!” he sputtered, but simply re-oriented the toy and began spinning it again. The other boy stared at him in annoyed disbelief.  
“Why are you always so weird?”  
“Not weird,” Roscoe muttered, though he didn’t get up and start fighting like the other expected; he knew he wouldn’t win the battle anyway. He didn’t even look up.

“Yeah, you are. You like the dumbest things.” The tone was mocking, something he’d heard many times before from peers and parents, and he knew exactly what it implied.  
“Tops are cool,” Roscoe said defensively, still not meeting the other’s gaze. He continued playing with his toy and began to rock a bit, making his discomfort obvious to his foe.

“And you act like Joey’s retarded brother with all that rocking and spinning, dude. So creepy. Why don’t you ever really look at me, anyway?”  
Roscoe scowled and glanced up for the first time, though kept his eyes fixed on the other boy’s chin. 

“Benji’s actually really smart, you know. He could read when he was two and he helps me with my math homework sometimes,” Roscoe retorted. _And he’s the only person who will play tops with me_ , he reflected silently.  
“Ha, you’re so stupid you need help from the retarded kid. So stupid!” 

The derisive laughter was like knives in his gut, and his cheeks burned with embarrassment. People so often seemed to get their jollies from humiliating him, and years of pent-up frustration suddenly released themselves.

In moments Roscoe had launched himself at the other boy, shoving him into a nearby bush. “You take all of that back!”  
“Stupid loser,” the boy taunted, aware he’d touched a sore nerve. He got back up and kicked Roscoe hard in the shin, who awkwardly tried and failed to dodge. “Nobody likes you and you’re gonna fail a grade because you’re so dumb.”  
“I’m not gonna fail!” Roscoe shrieked desperately, now close to tears. It was the one thing he really feared, and a consequence his father held over his head every time he got a mediocre score on a test. _You are such a disappointment to the family name, boy. Why can’t you do anything right?_

The other child was grinning as he shoved Roscoe to the ground with more force than was necessary. “Stay down, you weird freak. Your dumb toys won't help you now.”  
Roscoe stayed on the ground but stared daggers at him, for once looking at him straight in the eye. For his part, his enemy was somewhat unnerved by the intensity of the stare and the hatred evident in it; he’d never seen anything like it, and was more frightened than he wanted to let on.  
“Obsessive little creep,” the boy spat as he walked away, not taking his own gaze off Roscoe as he began to pick himself up.

Roscoe got to his feet painfully, casting an unhappy glance at his torn shirt. His mother would complain bitterly and ask why he’d gotten it, and his father would chew him out if he admitted to losing a fight. Plus one of his favourite tops had been kicked away and lost during the scuffle, he noted with an audible sigh and murmured expression of regret. There was only one thing which could make him feel better after an experience like this, so he gathered his remaining tops and began to spin them again.

**Author's Note:**

> For Autism Acceptance Month I wanted to write a fic about the mockery autistics often get for our special interests and different behaviours. I grew up in an era before Asperger's was a diagnosis (just as Roscoe would have), so people found my interests and habits bizarre and never let me forget it. We were treated as though we were weird and somewhat broken....there's less of that attitude now, but it's still widespread among people who don't know or don't care.
> 
> Sorry for the grim fics in recent months, but life's been strange with cyberbullies and it's come out in my work. I don't think the people who've been harassing me in the last few months are doing so because I'm autistic, but I suspect they wouldn't be on my case so much if I acted more neurotypical. But I'm not 'normal' and am socially shy and have strongly-focused interests, and that seems to have made me a target. That's part of the mentality I wanted to capture here.


End file.
